


Grimdark Throes

by Skellie



Series: Tentaclestuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skellie/pseuds/Skellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rose Lalonde has ensnared Terezi Pyrope in a nest of tentacles.</p><p>(Art+ficlet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grimdark Throes

**Author's Note:**

> A collaboration between myself and someone who wishes to remain anonymous. Permission has been given to post his part of the collab. He wrote the ficlet and I drew the art.

  
Your name is Rose Lalonde and it seems that you have found a new use for what remains of your Grimdark powers. A very nice use, indeed. You have trapped and squirming before you one Terezi Pyrope, inky black tentacles keeping her from escape. They prod, stroke, and slither at your slightest instruction, and you can feel all of it.

You snap your wand, discouraging the seeping shadows - though that may be the Pyrope girl seeping - from lurching too far along the thighs of your charge too soon. The powers paleochthonic and extrastellar, chastened by a crackle of violet, hold still, keeping at their teasing, not complying with the bucking of your troll charge's hips or her murmuring take me take me take take me take me.

Your orders are better, and when you see one tendril-tip dripping a dream-bubble while perched over the troll's serrated, gasping mouth, you need only say "Don't even think of it." and it stops. To some disappointment from your audience of one.

The tendrils, twilight blackness from beyond human comprehension, flowering inky blossoms across skin they touch and drink in like quill dripped in water are eager. Eager to engulf (in a way), to eat (in a fashion) and to penetrate (quite literally.). But they aren't going to, obviously, until at last you walk with a sway of your hips and a drag of your nightgown across the floor and curve your hand across her chin and lift her gaze up to yours. And even then only when the word "please" passes through jagged gritted teeth like a cluster of threes sent through a cheese-grater do you push her back, and smile, and the tendrils take her, wrapping with impudent plushness around the arms and the hands and snaking through the fingers and the toes and into the lips - so black! she would say, if she could - and into the other set, or whatever the aliens call them. And she bucks and she's wetter than the night and her teeth can't chew through the chtonic thing french-kissing her, involuntarily or no.

Your name is Rose Lalonde and sometimes your duty as a seer is to stand back, and watch, and let others face unpleasant fates. Or pleasant ones, from the muffled moans that reach your ears sounding like they crossed the depth of the ocean, with that one seeping vine of something unpronounceable sidewinding this way and that across her clit as it competes with a nest of others to reach the deepest into Terezi the most to blame.

If you were called upon to assign blame to the court of law. (For example, in a noise complaint that has by some manner gone federal.) That would be the one which would "take the rap" as it were and the others would be considered mere accomplices and may get off with lesser sentences. Which strikes you as a particularly amusing turn of phrase because Terezi Pyrope is definitely not getting off with a minor sentence.

You think you see dreams burbling from within her, flowing out in pearlescent drops forced out by every pump of the nest of black fingers pressing and winding into her. Unless that's how trolls come. You are not really sure. All the same, you decide she has had roughly enough and snap your fingers like a schoolmatron who thinks snapping your fingers causes schoolchildren to actually pay attention. Only in this case you hold a thorn of ogloloth so the schoolchildren in this metaphor (tentacles of inky night fucking the living daylights out of a troll) do, in fact, recede into their seats (being some twilight-space beyond space best not pondered.)

The touch of ink has flowered across her. She has gone completely grimdark. She babbles in strange tongues but this is not especially unusual given her treatment. As is traditional treatment for the grimdark, and is also fun, you are Rose Lalonde and you kiss her.


End file.
